


The Truth V: Stranger Than Fiction

by Viridian5



Series: The Truth [5]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Drama, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-03-18
Updated: 1999-03-18
Packaged: 2017-10-02 09:20:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viridian5/pseuds/Viridian5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys have a rough night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Truth V: Stranger Than Fiction

**Author's Note:**

> There's a vague spoiler for "S.R. 819."
> 
> Thanks to Feklar and Ladonna for righteous beta.
> 
> Some things here based on a stay at a New Jersey Marriot. The decor, convention, keycard problem, hall picnic.... Te suggested the motorcycle accident. That thing about the streetlights is something that actually happens with me. I still haven't found a reasonable explanation. I wrote the shower bit with Shriekback's "The Bastard Sons of Enoch" as a soundtrack.

_"...I'm a car crash  
Now tell me,  
Baby, does it show?"_  
 -- "Everything That Rises (Must Converge)" by Shriekback  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------

I slammed the trunk lid down on the three bodies. The Syndicate used these big, old cars just for the voluminous trunk space.

I really should have disposed of the corpses already instead of leaving them here overnight, but I was tired and sore. I wanted a bed and sex, maybe even in that order. Even with the nanotech accelerating my healing, I wasn't young enough to just shrug off a motorcycle crash anymore. The cold night would refrigerate the corpses until they could be dumped in a stand of sawgrass somewhere tomorrow.

Bastards had nailed my favorite bike.

Disgusted, I couldn't help but wonder how much more the conspiracy would accomplish if its factions didn't waste so much time trying to waste one another.

I turned to look at my partner, who winced in pain only because he didn't know I was watching. While I tended to call him "Ray" in public, I'd come to think of him as "Mulder/Ray," a volatile and endlessly fascinating combination of the man he'd been and the man he'd become. The first thing I had done after we'd killed our attackers was check to make sure he hadn't been badly hurt in the crash. It would be a horrible thing to lose the love of my life again so soon after getting him back.

Watching him go through withdrawal from the diet of drugs his captors had forced into him had been the hardest thing I'd ever had to do. It made me wish I'd tortured the bastards who'd taken him longer before I'd killed them.

When I put my new, left hand against his face, basking in the warmth of his skin, he leaned into it and sighed. He saw the benefits, but it still disturbed him that the nanotech had regenerated my left arm. I wanted him to focus on the positive aspects, so I would never tell him about the five, agonizing days I'd suffered through as it had grown back. I still thanked God that he hadn't been with me at the time. When he kissed my wrist, I couldn't help thinking that just the feel of his silky lips and warm breath there made it all more than worthwhile.

We picked up the bits of our luggage that had survived the crash and walked to the hotel. The doormen looked briefly surprised at the sight of us but said nothing as they opened the doors. Good manners.

Then we walked into the main hall, and I had to bite back a curse. I hadn't known the hotel would be hosting a convention tonight in the hallway we'd have to walk through to get to the check-in desk. Worse, it appeared to be a black tie affair. Women in expensive gowns, jewelry, and hairstyles sparkled under chandelier light as they mingled with distinguished looking gentlemen in tuxedos.

Mulder/Ray and I stood at the entrance dressed in blood- and grass-stained denim and leather, striped with road grime and smelling of fire and motor oil. The leather chaps we wore had served their purpose of protecting us from getting too torn up in the crash, but they made us look like a pair of guttersnipe leatherboys a guest might have hired in Newark for the evening's entertainment. We looked beaten down and usable.

We could only have been more conspicuous and memorable if we'd stripped naked, painted ourselves fluorescent yellow, and run screaming through the halls. Shit.

Well, if the guests were going to remember us anyway, I'd be damned if they'd see us creeping through the halls, obviously afraid to be noticed. I put a smile on my face and some swing in my hips before walking through the crowd with a slow swagger. I could almost feel Mulder/Ray's bemused smile behind me before he started to move with me. My whole attitude said that I had every right to be here, and that, if they wanted to get a look at my ass, I didn't mind at all; that was what it was there for.

The low hum of cultured conversation faltered only a little as the guests tried to stare at us without being caught at it. A few, both women and men, sent hungry looks our way and didn't care seem to care about the grime at all.

Mulder/Ray trailed behind me a little, making me worry a little before I realized he was taking advantage of an opportunity to scope out my ass. I grabbed his arm and pulled him forward a bit.

Dusted with dirt, oil, blood, and grass, he was still gorgeous. He'd spent time out in the sun during his two-month imprisonment at that institution, and it showed in the faint golden cast to his skin and his heavily highlighted hair. That hair, growing out a bit from the black dye job we'd put it through months ago to obscure his identity, was golden brown at the roots shifting down the strands to darker brown to red black to black with red highlights and finally to black with burgundy highlights at the ends. It shimmered under the light. He kept threatening to dye it black again, saying all the colors were too conspicuous, but I wouldn't let him. Only he could be forcibly institutionalized and come out looking like he'd spent time at a spa. If you ignored the restraint prints on his skin and the occasional needle mark. Sometimes I had to remind myself that I could only kill his captors once.

Then he smiled at me and bumped his hip against mine. I kept thinking I'd eventually hit a point when I wouldn't constantly feel the urge to throw him up against a wall and fuck him until he begged for mercy, but I hadn't gotten there yet. I was beginning to wonder if I ever would.

I'd only had him back for three weeks now. If anyone tried to take him away again, they'd have to pry him from my cold, stiff fingers.

We finally made it through the gauntlet of high society, past the sushi bar and piano lounge, to the check-in desk. Marble and polished, dark wood gleamed under the golden lamplight. The woman behind the counter smiled at us, ignoring the grime, and asked, "What name are you staying under, sir?"

I did like that "sir." "The room is listed under `Val and Brian Zhulin.'"

Mulder/Ray leaned tiredly against the counter with a small smile on his face, listening to the pianist play the _Godfather_ theme. He told me once that he heard that song while in the subway at least once every other visit to New York City. It was one of the odd things in his life, like the way he went through periods of time when streetlights went out as he traveled under them. The man was a walking X-File.

The woman handed me a small folder. "Your room is 528, sir. Here are your two keycards. Have a nice stay."

I gave her my best smile. "I will, thanks."

We found an elevator open and waiting for us. More polished brass and dark mahogany wood surrounded us. All the high taste here was starting to get to me a bit.

Mulder/Ray started to hum something. It took me a moment to identify it as "Tijuana Taxi." Had he guessed? "There's no Muzak here, so you had to make some?"

He grinned. "I blame society."

With all the cases in my hands I couldn't grab him, but I did kiss him. His lips felt like velvet beneath mine. "So am I Val or Brian?" he whispered, ever mindful of cameras.

"I'm Val."

"Same last name. Am I your brother or your wife? I have to know how I'm supposed to act."

I pinned him against the wall. "Kinky bastard." His body flexed against mine, drawing me in, and I wanted nothing more than to throw aside all our luggage and unwrap him, camera or no. When the doors opened for our floor, it took me a minute to decide whether to exit or ride the elevator, and him, a while longer.

"We have beds and a shower waiting for us, _Val_," he said.

Yeah, we'd already survived one assassination attempt tonight. It would be pushing our luck to make too public a spectacle of ourselves.

We walked out into a hall papered in tasteful beige and dusty rose and wandered off in search of our room. I didn't like the wallpaper's thin vertical stripes, which played spatial games with the eyes, especially on turns. I couldn't believe how much walking we were doing to reach the room.

"It's like being a labmouse in a damned maze," Mulder/Ray said before he sped up ahead of me. He'd matched my slow swagger downstairs, but he usually tended to walk very quickly, as if incessantly running toward or away from things. Given his quest, I could understand his fear of missing something or making too good a target if he lingered in any one place too long.

I followed the hummed strains of the _Pinky and the Brain_ theme song until I met up with him at our door. I swiped the keycard through the lock and made a straight line to the menu as soon as I got the door open. I took a moment to kick my boots off. Then, ever efficient, I read the menu and checked for bugs at the same time, giving both tasks their proper attention. The bedroom came up clean. Mulder/Ray had put the luggage down on the floor and started to investigate the room from his end.

"Posh," he said from somewhere near the bathroom.

"Uh-huh." Steak or the salmon BLT? The calamari was a must either way. No sushi, though.

"Alex." He sounded excited.

"Yeah?"

"The needles in the little sewing kit are _pre-threaded_!"

I fought down the urge to laugh. He'd never traveled anywhere near high-class before me. Aside from the famous beach house, the moneyed Mulder family had never really traveled. While he'd been with the FBI and its skinflint budget, Mulder had checked into a thousand fleabag motels. A place that didn't bolt its remote controls into the tables still had the power to shock and please him.

Wait till he noticed the coffeemaker, coffee packets, and mugs.

"Are you sitting on the bed in your filthy chaps?" he asked, sounding worried.

I stood up. "No."

"Liar. I don't want the cleaning staff to have hysterics when they see the room."

"That's what they're hired for."

"No reason to make their jobs harder." He started to run the water.

Oh, hell. My jeans under them had to be a bit cleaner anyway. I stripped the mud-stained leathers off before falling back on the bed, dreaming of room service.

He was taking a while. I got up to check on him, convinced that I was worrying too much, but I'd just gotten him back... He was bent over the sink washing his hands. He'd taken his own chaps off, and he was wearing _those_ jeans... They were worn-out blue, full of holes and held together from underneath only by thread, a few black patches in the most needful places, and sheer will. They'd look sluttier if the shabby fabric didn't sag so much, but the glimpses of bare skin, so much more arousing than just nakedness, made me forget about food altogether.

I put my hands on his hips and moved close enough to let him feel how much I wanted him. And some people still asked how I wore out the crotches on my jeans first. "What have I told you about those?" I asked.

He wiggled a bit. "That they're an incitement to riot?"

Thankful yet again to have a left hand back to go with the right, I unfastened his jeans and pulled them down. He was so damned beautiful. I slicked my fingers with the lubricant I kept warm in my jacket and stroked in and up. His whole body moved as I scissored them. He moaned and spread his legs to better display himself. Unable to take another second of teasing, I unzipped myself before my arousal could break the zipper. Clumsy with lust, my fingers shook as I put the condom on. When I thrust in hard and sure, he gasped my name and moved to better screw himself. I set a harsh, demanding rhythm, and he followed. I rubbed my face in his soft hair and bit the rim of his ear.

As my fingers wrapped around his cock and started to stroke, I noticed us in the mirror. We rocked together as one person, back and forth. With all the leather, it was hard to tell where one of us began and the other ended. A light sweat burnished his skin a shining gold in the light. His face all but glowed with passion.

Then he opened to reveal eyes gone nearly black and smiled at me through the mirror before his hands went back to squeeze my ass. I came hard, pushing him against the counter. His cock stiffened in my hand before letting loose.

I melted on him, both of us leaning on the counter, breathing hard. I always treasured these moments of warmth and security--with him enfolded, hot and tight, around me--before I had to slide out and get on with life.

"I'm your brother, then," he gasped. I swatted him on the ass as I pulled out. He turned, smiled, and gave me a kiss I felt all the way down to my toes.

After I cleaned us up with a warm washcloth, I gently but firmly grabbed him by the wrists, over his protests, and took a good look at his hands. No wonder they'd felt a bit harsh against my ass. "These are bad scrapes. I thought you were wearing gloves."

"I was. Impact ripped the skin even through the leather. I had to take them off right after so the blood wouldn't make them stick to my hands." He pushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. "And don't even think of offering me some of the nanotech."

"I wouldn't dream of it." But I was afraid that I'd already given it to him. When I'd just gotten him back... Well, my only defense was that lust had stopped me from thinking. I'd worn condoms as I'd reamed him, but I hadn't thought twice when those luscious lips had wrapped around my bare cock and milked me dry. He seemed to heal faster now, and his withdrawal had been shorter than it should have been, which all suggested that the nanotech had taken root.

And I was afraid to tell him. He had a horror of it, completely understandable given all the other substances that had been introduced into his body to change him against his will. Would he believe me if I said that I had done it by accident?

"We getting room service?" he asked as he pulled his jeans back on.

"Yeah, you just need to figure out what you want."

He walked out, threw himself onto one of the beds, and pored through the menu. "I'll have chicken portobello quesadilla, por favor."

"Let me call it down." As I ordered room service, he pulled the case that held his disassembled rifle up onto the bed and opened it.

He snarled once he took a good look at his favorite rifle. "Fuck, the sight is cracked. If I'd known they'd ruined it, I would have killed them longer."

I just barely managed to avoid drooling over the phone. I didn't know why he had such an effect on me.

"How long?" he asked as he closed the case. Then he opened the mangled remains of our suitcase.

"Forty-five minutes." It was too soon to jump him again, right?

"Shit. Our clothes are ruined."

They looked like they'd been run over a few times. Dirt, grime, and grease had been ground into the fabrics in ways that rendered them impossible to clean.

We might have to lounge around our room naked, eventually.

He stood and stretched before going over to the ice container. "I'm getting ice. Wanna come?"

Oh, did I. But that wasn't what he meant. He had hallway exploring on his mind. "Sure." I could go and frustrate myself watching him walk in those jeans.

"Remember to bring a keycard."

I sighed. "I'm a professional, remember?"

He laughed.

We wandered the hallways looking for the ice machine. Rather, he looked, and I watched his jeans move, revealing an ever-changing expanse of skin, never the exact same spots twice. Those stripes on the wallpaper tried to play with my mind, but I refused to look and let them.

After an interminable time walking through what had started to seem like an Escher illustration, we found the machine, got our ice, and walked back. Mulder took the card from my hand, ran it through, and turned the door handle. It didn't open. He did it again, still to no effect. He ran it through quickly, then slowly, with still no joy.

"Give me that," I said.

"Are you saying I can't unlock a door?"

"No, but maybe it likes me better."

He stuck out his tongue at me but handed over the card. I ran it through a few times with no luck either.

"Maybe we should have taken the same card you'd opened the door with originally," he said.

"They're both supposed to work. I guess you broke this one."

"What?"

"Streetlights."

"That's unfair; I'm completely innocent." He leaned against the wall and sulked in a highly decorative way that underscored how far from innocent he was. "And our gadget for opening these things is in the room."

As I tried not to snicker at him using the word "gadget," I looked at our situation. We both had some cash and our guns on beneath our leather jackets. I was standing out here in my socks, since I'd hought the search for ice would only take a few minutes. One of us would have to go down and ask for another keycard.

I didn't care if it made me overprotective, but it worried me to be separated from him. Still, we couldn't be together 24-7, and I had to get him to a point where he could be comfortable with that. It would make me feel marginally better to be the one to abandon the cover of the doorway to go downstairs and get the new key.

Even if I would be wandering around in my socks.

"Guard the ice. I'll be right back," I said and almost flinched from the terror his eyes briefly flashed at me. "Right back; I swear."

He sat on the floor clutching the ice bin in one arm while the other hand rested under his jacket, no doubt on one of his guns. "I'll be waiting."

I kissed the top of his head, savoring the feel of his hair against my lips, before taking off down the hallway at a fast jog. I had a promise to keep.

That terror I'd seen in his eyes worried me, but it matched my own. He had problems all his own, but paranoia and a panic at being separated were things we shared, not unreasonable given our experiences. They helped us survive; when you stopped feeling fear, you became sloppy. But I couldn't help thinking that we took them to unhealthy extremes.

Okay, so we both had problems we needed to work through.

Mulder/Ray had nightmares that shocked him awake in the middle of the night, too overwhelmed to even scream. The crush of years of tampered memories flooding back sometimes left him staring blankly into space, pulled under and lost in the fragments flying through his head. He needed professional help, but where could I possibly take him? Who could we trust? Who would believe us?

And I couldn't help worrying about the possibility of brain damage from years of mindwipes. I couldn't protect him against injuries that had already been inflicted on him.

Ten minutes later I was back on the fifth floor, jogging toward our room. Apparently people got locked out of their rooms often enough that the staff were trained and ready to prepare duplicate cards. As I walked toward our door, I saw a familiar hand clear the doorway to wave at a bemused woman in a pink, beaded gown; she kept looking back over her shoulder at him as she walked away. I felt better instantly.

He grinned as he saw me and moved away from the door. No wonder the woman had stared. He _looked_ like he'd been well fucked recently, rumpled, flushed, and loose. I licked my lips and ran the card through... and it still didn't work. Five unsuccessful tries later, I rested my head against the door and said, "It must be the lock."

"We're screwed, aren't we?"

Directly across the hall, a couple shot us a few nervous looks as they successfully unlocked their door. I put on my most charming and plaintive look. "Our keycard won't work. Can I call down the problem on your phone?"

They glanced around, no doubt hoping that I'd been addressing someone else, then looked frightened. The man seemed to be trying to shield his woman from me with his own body as he said, "Sure."

I grinned and walked in. As I dialed the hotel operator, I noticed Mulder/Ray standing in the doorway, hand under his jacket, watching the husband. The sight of him covering me without needing to be told almost made my heart burst.

"Thanks," I said as I left the room. The door closed immediately behind me, and I could hear the lock clicking into place. It amused the hell out of me.

"How long?" Mulder/Ray asked.

"Ten minutes for one of their technicians. They think it's a problem with the lock too." I slumped down to sit on the floor in our doorway with him. "Hand me an ice cube. I'm dying of thirst."

"I had one myself while I waited." He popped it into my mouth and smiled as I kissed his fingertips, enjoying the extremes of hot and cold against my tongue.

"So, anything happen while you were waiting?" He couldn't take his eyes off me. I sucked a little louder just for him.

"Numerous convention people stared at me. Other than that, it was very dull."

A member of the staff holding a few giant, domed platters on a tray stopped next to us. "I have dinner for Room 528?" He looked worried.

"That's us. We're locked out of our room right now. We're told help is on the way."

He started to look a lot more anxious. I realized that he was afraid he'd be expected to stand here and wait with us.

Mulder/Ray stood up. "We can take the food now." He grinned as he looked at me and mouthed, "Hall picnic."

With great relief, the man handed him a receipt to sign and a pen before handing him the platters and escaping as quickly as politeness would let him. Mulder/Ray shook his head and asked, "Are we really that frightening looking?"

"I think we look like two lost little lambs."

We settled plates, utensils, and lids around us before digging in. I gave him a few strips of calamari and asked him what he thought. "I just taste fried batter with a tinge of seafood flavor."

"You're kidding me."

"Sorry. It's _good_ chewy, fried batter though."

He laughed as I stuck my tongue out at him. "You have no appreciation for the finer things," I said.

He tackled his quesadilla with total concentration and the occasional "mmm" of happiness, but his booted foot kept stroking slowly up and down my thigh. If he didn't stop soon, we'd be putting on a floorshow. And I hated getting rugburn.

But I couldn't help myself. I started to stroke the bits of bare skin visible through the holes in his jeans. He made a small mewling sound and started to melt down the wall. Toward me.

Bad, bad, bad. Not out here. I needed a distraction. Desperately.

I found it on my plate. I lifted a fried and battered, whole crit and displayed it to him. Mulder/Ray looked torn between amusement and fascinated disgust. "Did they throw it into the batter live and in one piece?" He shivered. "Now I'm imagining tiny seafood cries of 'Help me! Help me!'"

"This is one scary calamari."

"You're a poet."

"Hi! We're so sorry about this!" a young woman in the hotel uniform burbled as she walked up with a man in a handyman's outfit. She tried and failed to cover her dismay at the sight of us sitting on the floor in the hall having dinner with a veneer of professional good cheer. "This is Joe. He's going to get you into your room."

It took us two minutes to clear our selves, our plates, and our utensils out of the doorway. Joe had a machine just like one I had and tried to reset the lock code. Mulder/Ray watched with his lips twitching. I lightly smacked his arm as a warning not to jinx us.

"I don't believe this," Joe muttered. Never a good sign.

The girl's smile slipped. "What's wrong?"

"I can't reset the code. The lock's broken. We'll have to drill it off the door."

I felt the arm under my hand shaking and saw Mulder/Ray biting his lip. Maybe I'd find this entertaining later on, but for now I was pissed off. "We can't stay out in the hall," I said.

"The room next door is unoccupied. We can put you in there while the staff works on getting your belongings. The room has one king-sized bed, not the twins, though."

Hallelujah. We usually got the twin bed rooms as a way to divert a bit of attention from who we were, but having a valid excuse to cover being in a room with a big bed almost made this whole mess worth it. The things we could do with and on a king...

"That'll be fine," I said.

"I'll be back with the new keycards." She all but fled.

We turned to look at Joe. "I've never seen this happen before. Sorry." He packed up his equipment and left us standing in the doorway amidst our dinner.

Mulder/Ray lost it. He writhed as he giggled helplessly. "This is perfect," he squeaked.

I sighed. "This is all your fault."

"How?"

"I don't know yet."

"I knew it all along."

"What?"

"It _is_ all about me."

If I looked at him, I would lose a perfectly good mad-on. I put on my best stern face, which only made him crack up further. I knew a way I could make him stop laughing, but we didn't have enough time before the girl would get back.

Aw, hell, it was good to see him laugh.

I snatched the keycards from the girl's hand as soon as she showed up and opened the door. We grabbed the remains of our dinner and shuttled them in. Then we closed the door in her face. Then we did our second bug sweep of the night.

Mulder/Ray grabbed a bottle of spring water from the bureau and sat down to finish his dinner at the table with complete serenity. He thrived in chaos. Me, I liked to cause it but hated to live under it. I sat down across from him. He smiled and gave me a few cubes of our hard-won ice for my own glass of spring water.

"The calamari needs something," I said. "Don't say it."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

I tried to open the tiny bottle of ketchup and failed miserably. Before I could start punishing it by smacking it against the side of the table, he took it from me and opened it in one swift twist.

"Wiseass," I said.

"Even my ass is wise." He handed the bottle back and shrugged apologetically. "You still need to build more strength in the new arm."

"Yeah, yeah." I dipped my cooling calamari in the ketchup. "You aren't going to eat any more?"

"I'm full."

His stay at the damned institution had destroyed his appetite, but he was getting better. Didn't stop me from wanting to force-feed him though.

He plunged backward onto the bed and stretched out with a sigh. My hunger turned in a completely different direction. I leapt onto the bed and crawled up until I straddled him. He gave me the most insufferable look, so it gave me such a happy to wipe it off his face with my next move. I took a bottle of black nail polish out of my jacket pocket and uncapped it.

"How conspicuous do you want me to be? The hair isn't enough?" he asked.

But when I grabbed his hand, he didn't resist. "I know you like your hair, and this makes me happy." I started to paint. "This is the quick-dry stuff. One minute or your money back."

"You could have bought the really cheap stuff and put on two coats for the same effect in about the same time." He grinned at the look on my face. "You should have seen me in the early eighties."

"Sure, make me think of what I missed. Eyeliner too?"

"Uh-huh."

"Hmmm."

"Not tonight. I have a headache."

I applied the black polish onto his fingernails in long, even strokes that calmed me like meditation. He was serene, warm, and solid under me as he looked up at me with as much trust as he ever felt for anyone. I almost thought I could see his soul in his eyes.

It amazed me how tolerant he could be of my occasional impulses to treat him like a big doll. Paint him, primp him, dress him, fuck him, love him...

Kill with him. He'd gotten a taste for it, just like I'd suspected he would. I loved to watch him while he was in a killing trance, like tonight when he'd been ice calm against our official target and a wild, raging animal against the people who'd shot out our tire to kill us. He had become my partner in all things, in ambition and violence and blood and perversion and love. Wholly mine, and just the way I'd always wanted him.

I kept expecting to pay dearly for being this happy, and maybe my obsessive worrying about him could be counted as paying for it. But the anxiety didn't even come close to the love, and there was no way in hell I wouldn't enjoy having him to the hilt for as long as life let me hold on.

When I finished, he stretched his arms above him and curled his fingers to protect the polish. The feel of him moving beneath me made me drape myself on him and drift in for a long kiss. We kissed and nuzzled one another for a mindless eternity, and I tasted the sharp spice of salsa on his tongue and lips. Not even the acrid, chemical smell of the polish could distract me from the mingled scents on him, of his skin and the sex we'd had earlier. I'd been hard all night, even after our first round, and I wanted him with everything in me.

When we heard noise next door, we both drew our guns. "It could just be the staff getting our gear. If they are, it would be rude to kill them," I said softly.

"Or it could be more people here to kill us."

"Could be."

"We're going to be frustrated for the rest of the night, aren't we?"

"It's starting to look like it." I wanted to stamp my feet and whine like a cranky child. Godammit, I wanted sex _now_!

The door adjoining the two rooms opened. I leapt off him, gun ready but with my unarmed side facing the door, just in case. A member of the staff poked his head in. "Once we get your stuff out, we can move you to your new room."

"New room?" I asked stupidly.

"We can't keep you in this one. You wanted a room with twin beds."

What I wanted was to put a bullet in his head. "But it's--"

"We're giving you an upgrade and taking 50% off your bill."

Yeah, wonderful. Meanwhile, the staff was so fucking helpful they wouldn't leave us the fuck alone.

"Once you come in and get your things, we'll lead you up."

Yeah, let's see how cheerful you'd be with your brains dribbling out your skull.

I looked back at Mulder/Ray. "I bet you think this is funny."

"This stopped being funny a few minutes ago."

After I finally put my boots back on, we put all our belongings on the cart and followed the man. Mulder/Ray still carried our original ice bin, muttering, "After all we've been through for this ice, we're keeping it." We took the elevator up another two floors to our new room. As soon as we had our gear and the man had left, we swept the room for bugs. Our third sweep for the night.

Damn, I felt tired. It had hit suddenly, taking me completely by surprise. The adrenaline rush must have finally faded. I wearily closed the curtain.

Mulder/Ray made a small sound that immediately attracted my attention. "What?" I asked.

"We're clean," he said softly from where he knelt on the floor.

I immediately slid down to be with him. "Tell me."

Trembling, he raised his palms to me. The raw scrapes had been replaced by new, pink skin. Now we knew for sure. Then he grabbed me and buried his face in my neck.

"I'm sorry; I'm so sorry," I whispered as I held him tightly, trying to stop his shaking. He could be so fragile...

"No, I was careless and didn't want to think about it. I wanted you so much..."

"I... I could have stopped you. Somehow. But... I wanted you too much too; I didn't think." I stroked his hair. "You know that my nanotech was specially engineered. There's no killing box set for me. For _us_. Not like there will be for Skinner and Scully."

That distracted him but not the way I'd intended. He sounded almost panicked. "No. No, we can't use that on them."

"But they _hurt_ you."

"If we kill them, we do it quick and clean. Okay?"

I couldn't refuse the look of entreaty he gave me. "Okay."

I didn't understand him at times. How could he still feel loyalty for two people who had manipulated and lied to him, who had given him, again and again, to the people who'd raped his mind? They'd used him and his talents ruthlessly, without caring about the mental and physical damage they'd caused.

I wanted to torture them until they begged for death. Death, because they'd soon realize that asking for mercy from me would be a waste of time. I wanted them to pay for the scars and insanity, the extreme paranoia and nightmares. I wanted to put them in that damned chair the doctors had used on him, strap them in to within an inch of their lives, and demonstrate the process he'd been put through. He still had screaming nightmares about it, especially about having his head immobilized by the clamp as the sharp things came for him.

I stroked his hair out of his eyes. "Anything you want," I said.

"Bed?"

"Shower first?"

"We'd have to get back into our filthy clothes eventually."

"Two fluffy robes are hanging in the closet."

"That should thrill the staff." But he smiled a little.

"We could bear the clothing for another day just so we can shop in the pavilion nearby."

"It looked like Disney World, but with the capitalism unapologetically bared to the masses."

"We'll live. I just think we'll feel better after a shower."

"If you can get me in there, Alex, we can do it."

He made me drag him into the bathroom, though he did help me as unobtrusively as he could. Stripping one another was as much fun as it ever was, but he did seem tired. He felt good under my hands, and it relieved me to feel him regaining muscle tone. Drugged into near insensibility and strapped down during those months in the institution, he hadn't gotten much opportunity to exercise.

He cursed under his breath as he tried to get out of his jeans without stepping into one of the holes and ripping them more. I picked him up and lightly shook him until they fell to the floor in a puddle. He laughed and held me tighter.

I adjusted the spray for massage and pulled him in with me. I luxuriated under the warm water, sighing happily as it rendered me boneless and made Mulder/Ray's anxiety-tight body loosen in my grip. We washed the motor oil, dirt, and blood away first, being thorough and impersonal in our touches until we were slippery and clean. He thrummed with impatience as I shampooed his hair, still unable to understand what he called my fetish. I just loved his hair. But he purred as I kneaded his scalp. My hair, short as it was, took no time at all.

Then we allowed our soap-slick hands to linger, trailing over trembling flesh. I had him pinned and mewling against the wall as I stroked him into a frenzy. He whispered my name in an endless, needy loop until it sounded meaningless even to me. I buried my face in his steaming skin and nuzzled, lost in the rich scent of expensive soap. We ground against one another, stroking and kneading, hot and wet, until we came. I wished it could have been longer, but we were too tired and had been frustrated too long.

I adjusted the body draped on me so I could turn off the water. I sat him down on the edge of the tub and started to rub him dry. He leaned forward with his head resting against the top of mine. I rubbed heads with him before kissing a few beads of water from the tip of his nose.

"Love you, Alex," he whispered as I wrapped him in the terry cloth robe.

I felt something clench within me, painful but in a good way. "Love you too."

The only way we could both sleep in the twin was to twine together. After a few minutes of restless shifting and more than a few painful jabs from elbows and knees, we finally settled into our comfortable, chosen niches. Thoroughly entangled with him, lost in his heat and drowsy presence, I clutched him tighter and went to sleep.

### End


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